


What was His Problem Again? PTSD?

by tsukkisaur



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Child Kenma, Death Scene in the Snow, Death in the Snow, Dreams, Kenma Protection Squad: Kuroo, M/M, Past Life AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reincarnation, Soldiers, Tsukishima Kei is Long Dead, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi Soldier Friendship, World War II, Yamaguchi has Also Died, Yamaguchi is a Healer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 11:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukkisaur/pseuds/tsukkisaur
Summary: Kozume Kenma had often dreamed of many things, all with the faint voice calling out, "Tsukki." But six-year-old Kenma didn't know what that was. If he did, he might have known a tad more about himself.After all, his parents were crying over his PTSD, whatever that meant. It didn't sound like "cold" or "cough". Maybe that made it special.It could have been cool, but why didn't Kuroo have it?





	What was His Problem Again? PTSD?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. It's me. Kei. Again. 
> 
> This is the HQ one-shot a friend from my Twitter (@die_tsukki) requested and I dedicate this fully to her. I know I'm a dork, and a total flop at writing, but I'm back at it again because I don't care anymore. 
> 
> Anyhoot~
> 
> Enjoy, beloved readers! Lend me your thoughts in the comments!

Some days he would find himself flat on his back, blades of glass prickling him down under, as he would stare up at the canopy of trees that loomed above him. Streams of light coursed between leaves and twigs, as he would sigh, much to his satisfaction. 

Some days he would find himself sitting on a sidewalk, hugging his knees as the rain poured heavily, pattering against roofs of nearby houses, whereas the cold seeped into his skin through his drenched clothes. The night breeze blew, and he hugged himself even tighter, shivers moving up his spine. He fixed his jaw to prevent further chattering in his teeth. 

But there always seemed like a common denominator in every instance. There was always a deus ex machina, someone holding his hand, or bringing an umbrella to loom over his head, and a voice saying, "Tsukki."

Of course, Kenma's never seen the speaker, not even once in the dreams he had. But every single time he heard the other voice, despite it being ever so warming, he felt a strong craving to turn and look who he was. He needed to know for a reason unknown. 

A part of him wanted to run away from home, and find the sceneries in his dreams, but there was also a factor that hindered him. 

That had been Kuroo Tetsurou, the boy next door who kept bugging him to come out and play volleyball in the local park. 

God knew exactly why he'd be given a single friend despite his problems. And the problem... What did his psychiatrist tell him again? PTSD? He didn't know what it meant, given his age of six, and he's only heard it once from his family doctor. His parents never discussed it with Kenma either, but he caught them crying once. 

And why would they cry? Kozume would end up thinking to himself later that night. Was it because he had dreams? He never really understood what the dreams meant. All he knew was they were scaring him because his parents were crying over it. That was all. 

"Kenma," began Tetsurou, a yellowing volleyball tucked in his arms, as the two trudged in their sweatpants towards the empty open volleyball court, "Mom said you were at the hospital the other day."

"Mm," Kenma hummed in response, before looking up to lock eyes with Kuroo. "I was."

By then, Tetsurou dropped the ball, which then rolled over to Kenma, to tighten the holds of the net from the left post, straightening the sagging equipment. "Why? You sick?"

"They say so," Kozume replied, not louder than a whisper, settling himself down on the ground, the volleyball in his lap. "I don't really understand what's going on."

He fiddled with the rough surface, his hands trailing all over the old ball as he flicked off the blades of grass that stuck to it the last time he and Kuroo went out. He felt every scrape that caught his eye, and sighed, trying to rethink things out for his own sake. 

"KOZUME!" roared a new voice, startling the boy, the ball flying from his grasp as he scrambled to his feet in surprise. Kenma frowned, his eyes burning holes into the ground as he bit his lower lip in attempt to keep it from trembling. He was mad at himself, not like any kid his age should. Why would he be frightened by something that was far from ever being scary? 

By that time, Kuroo had already ran across the court towards him, a hand clasping his shoulder, and whispered, "You okay?"

Kenma nodded before stirring heads to face the speaker. Three boys, probably older than him, had grouped at the far end of the court, grins stretching lips, snickering as they nudged each other. He barely even knew any of their names, but he was sure they were in the local neighborhood, and perhaps even Kenma and Kuroo's elementary. 

"Told you he'd jump," Kenma had heard one say. 

"Knock it off," Kuroo growled, a hand on his hip, the other around Kenma. "He's sick. Cut him some slack."

Right, he was sick. 

Kenma had to remind himself every single day that there was something wrong with him, and that he was different. That tore him away from reality, and robbed him of a social life, and a need to interact with others aside from Kuroo. 

Right, he was sick. 

But sick with what, exactly? 

Surely, PTSD didn't sound like a disease to him. It felt like it was so far from "cough" and "cold". Maybe PTSD referred to his recurring dreams, that's why the illness was so special when heard. 

It had a nice ring to it, Kenma thought, but it was strange because Kuroo didn't have it. Neither did the other kids from his school. 

So, why him? 

Kozume Kenma just had to live with it. Some days he would dream about staring up at the sky in a breezy summer afternoon. Some days he would dream about sitting in the rain. And there always appeared the same old coexisting voice that never left his dreams in their lonesome. He was never the only character. At least there was someone else inside. Maybe he had PTSD, too. 

If only he knew what 'Tsukki' meant! Perhaps he learned himself a tad more. 

During summer break, Kenma had been dealing with more dreams, but a week before class resumed, he had the strangest one yet. 

It was snowing. 

Kozume could feel soft dunes of flakes underneath him. He watched as the sky cried, its tears peppering his face. Kenma smiled. He'd always liked the winter. 

That was until he tried getting up to reach for one of the snowflakes falling in his direction. Kenma's smile brightened as he opened and closed his palms, staring in awe at his mobile fingers. It was really happening! Kenma thought. 

He leapt to his feet, and his glee immediately wavered. Why on earth was his shirt red? Kenma stirred as his heart pounded against his chest, ringing in his ears. Why was the snow beneath him stained red as well? 

And where was his "Tsukki" friend? 

Kozume pursed his lips and turned towards every direction. He seemed to have fallen into a valley, rolled off one of the nearby dunes. No trees. No anything but hills grazed with snow. 

And his neck...

He clutched his nape, a shiver crawling up his spine as the breeze blew. It felt colder, with his long hair gone. There was nothing to brush against his skin as the wind ran through his hair and clothes. 

"Tsukki!"

Kenma muttered, "About time." He nearly jumped at how low his voice was, but alas, he was to meet his friend for so long. Finally, he could ask about these dreams and how to lose them so his Mommy and Daddy would stop crying. 

And there, to his north, was a man, dressed like one of Kuroo's toy soldiers, tufts of green hair peeking out his helmet, with his expression hard enough to scare Kenma away. 

"This is my dream, after all," the boy thought, "so I can control whatever happens!"

"Kageyama's in the front line. I received orders to retreat to home base.What happened to your stomach?" the stranger yelled, before the snow crunched under his steps as he trudged towards him, clambering down the crest in mild panic. Kenma eyed the rifle sitting on his back with great interest. He soon enough found himself back on the ground, as "Tsukki" pulled out bandages from his pockets. "Fuck, you'll bleed to death."

"Mommy says that's a bad word," Kenma commented, furrowing his brows. "You should rethink your word choices."

The green-haired male frowned. "Mommy? Word choices? Tsukki, you're bleeding to death. Why the hell are you worrying about me cussing?" He proceeded to unbutton Kenma's top, the younger boy watching in great awe at the blood in his chest. He's always been fond of gory games, just not the horror ones as he'd react far differently than any other kid his age. His companion resumed in wrapping the bandage around his waist. 

Six year old Kozume shrugged, throwing himself on the snow. "Dunno."

The man pursed his lips as he worked. "Tsukki," his friend cupped his chin, his eyes looking at him with both fondness and fear at the same time once he tied the bandage in place, preventing further bleeding. His hands dropped to his lap. "Who am I?"

Kenma froze up. Of all things adults had to ask! How was he supposed to know? All he said was basically "Tsukki". There were only two questions his aunts and uncles would ask Kenma during family reunions: who you are and who I am. 

Kenma couldn't believe this green-haired stranger kneeling beside him was limiting his options to interrogate. 

"Great," he murmured, "you've got amnesia."

"Come again?"

"Yamaguchi Tadashi," he finally spoke, rubbing circles into Kenma's knuckles. "I can differentiate lies from truths, and I can tell you aren't messing with me. What the fuck is up these days?"

"Tadashi," Kozume drawled. 

"Yes?"

The hair at the back of Kenma's neck stood, but he immediately cleared his voice and continued, "I've heard your voice a lot. In my dreams. I like your name. And thank you... Thank you for saving me from the rain. I'd get colds."

Yamaguchi, for the first time since Kenma's seen him, let out a genuine laugh, throwing his head back for a laugh. "I love you, Tsukishima Kei. You should know."

Tsukishima Kei. That was his name. Kenma felt more like a ghost possessing another body. It felt awesome. 

"We'll get your memories back once this lame excuse of a war's over." Tadashi's lifted his cold fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss to them. "I promise."

Kenma tilted his head to the side, ignoring the fact that someone had pecked the back of his hand, let alone, a man. "Excuse me, Yamaguchi-san," he began, gesturing to his gun. "What's it for?"

Yamaguchi opened his mouth to speak, before sounds of gunshotz cut through the air, and Kenma froze. 

His lower lip trembling in fear, he slowly turned to look at his legs, bullets disappearing under his flesh. "I'm scared," he whispered, unable to move from his position on the ground, the pain from his lower half climbing up his torso. He tried his best to not let a scream escape his lips. 

He turned to Tadashi, anticipating his consolation. He needed one of those heartfelt coos, even if it wasn't even his name in the first place. But Tadashi's eyes had tears in them, surfaces glossing, lids puffy. He stared at his own stomach, and found his uniform stained - like Kenma's. 

"Yamaguchi?" Kenma whispered once more. 

Fingers closed around his in response, Yamaguchi giving great effort to alleviate the pain from his chest as he forced a smile. "This war will be over soon," Tadashi's assured, "and we've only been ambushed. Nothing to be afraid of."

"Those were guns, you've heard," he added. "Just sounds."

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty!" A pillow slammed into Kenma's face as the boy awoke with a start, only to find his best friend's face offering one of his most predatory grins. "Got volleyball practice today!"

Kenma wanted to whine. He had already met Yamaguchi, and they were together, they were talking. He wanted a far more lengthy conversation with the boy in his dreams, even if that meant his legs had to endure the pain the whole time. 

His legs! 

Kenma swiftly threw his covers off the bed, and stared at his pajama-clad lower half before sighing on relief. 

"Something came up?" Kuroo asked. Kozume turned his attention back to Tetsurou who began picking up the blankets he had only swept off. 

"Nothing," Kenma muttered. "We've got volleyball."


End file.
